


Siren Song

by hobgoblin123



Category: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-28 01:17:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2713622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobgoblin123/pseuds/hobgoblin123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set on board of the Desert Queen; what if the image of Ciani hadn't been the worst temptation for Damien? I suppose this story is technically AU, because in all likelihood some events in the books would have played out differently if Damien and Gerald had indulged in, well, certain activities while crossing the Sea of Dreams...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Siren Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liz_mo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liz_mo/gifts).



> Hi, liz_mo, 
> 
> as I wasn't assigned the Coldfire Trilogy, I opted for writing a treat for you. I didn't manage to include many of your mentioned kinks, but I hope you'll like it, nonetheless. Merry X-mas and a happy New Year!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Coldfire Trilogy, and no profit whatsoever is intended.

Credits: The stuff about the moon becoming like blood and the stars falling to the earth is from the Book of Revelation in the New Testament (the breaking of the Sixth Seal, 6:12-17)

Warnings: Slash and quite a few four-letter-words...

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The image of Ciani wavered like a mirage in the hot desert sun. But just when the warrior knight thought it would disappear altogether, it morphed into something infinitely more alluring. The female attributes vanished as limbs were stretching until the figure surpassed him in height by several inches, dark hair brightened to a shade of light brown reflecting the golden glow of the Core, and blue eyes changed to molten pools of silver sparkling no less brilliantly than the stars above.

Hovering weightlessly several feet above the water surface, Gerald Tarrant beckoned him with a smile that transformed his already striking features into something straight out of a fairy tale. "Come to me, Vryce," he whispered, and completely enthralled Damien stepped forward without even realizing that he was moving. From far, far away, he heard someone shouting his name, but he paid no more attention to it than he would have to the cry of a not seagull. After wrestling himself free of the calloused hands trying to hold him back with all his might and main, he climbed onto the iron rail barring the way to the object of his desire and jumped without feeling the faintest trace of fear. And what for? Surely, in this surreal place the air would carry him just like the man who was still waiting for him with outstretched arms.

But the delusions of his bewitched mind didn't bear up against the grim reality. Even a priest of the One God couldn't walk on water, and the breath caught in his throat as the chill waves of the Sea of Dreams were washing over him, freezing his body to immobility. For a treacherous moment, he seemed to float as if his considerable bulk was weighing no more than a down feather. But then gravity exerted its influence, and he started to sink like a millstone.

Deeper and deeper he was being pulled into Novatlantis' lightless realm until sun and moon were nothing but distant memories any longer. Pressure was building on his ears and the freezing water temperature was threatening to stop his heartbeat, but it didn't really matter. Nothing mattered save Gerald wanting him, needing him with every fibre of his being in a way he hadn't thought possible in his wildest dreams. Neither the battle-hardened warrior knight coming in handy for defeating a common enemy nor the cleric striving for the redemption of a creature that had been committing crimes beyond mortal reckoning for centuries without feeling a shred of pity, but Damien Kilcannon Vryce, the man.

His ears still ringing with the sweetest music he had ever heard, he knew with absolute certainty that he only had to hold out a little bit longer and the former Prophet of the Law would be at his side for all eternity, finally freed from the vicious circle of hunger and murder he was being trapped in. Then his sorrows in form of the pangs of remorse about betraying everything his faith was standing for for the greater good would melt away like the last snows of winter kissed by the warm rays of the early spring sun, and his life would be a series of blessed days until the whole moon became like blood and the stars of the sky fell to the earth as it was written in one of the texts which had already been ancient when their forefathers had braved the icy depths of space.

With a blissful smile Vryce opened his mouth in order to draw the breath which would finally unite him with the one and only man he had ever wanted, but suddenly a hand so much colder than the sea gripped his wrist like a vise. Infuriated about the interference, he tried to pry the bothersome fingers off, but it was to no avail. Inch by inch, he was pulled back to the surface and hauled aboard the Desert Queen like a fish on a hook.

Rubber plugs were pushed into his ears in spite of his thrashing about like a man possessed, and the next thing he realized was that he was laying face down on the wooden planks, his head turned slightly to the side. Try as he might, he couldn't breathe. But just when he was verging on giving in to a surge of naked panic, strong hands exerted rhythmical pressure just below his ribs until a gush of salt water was pouring forth from his mouth.

When he could finally stop coughing and spluttering, Damien rolled onto his back and opened his eyes, just to come face to face with the Hunter. For once, Tarrant didn't look like his familiar aloof, impeccably groomed self. The state of utter disarray of his hair and clothes, the latter already frozen stiff in the places where they were coming in direct contact with his body, left no doubt that it had been the very man who had jumped after him and saved him from finding a wet grave. Both the golden-brown strands and the visible parts of the deathly pale skin of his knight in shining armour were covered in a thin layer of hoarfrost, giving the impression of a creature made of sheer ice instead of flesh and bone.

It was a frightening sight to behold, but what really gave the warrior knight some food for thought was the ill-boding expression on that beautiful face. He had witnessed Gerald torturing innocents for personal gain in cold blood, had seen him killing mercilessly and planning the downfall of whomever he perceived as a threat without giving a single thought to eventual collateral damage. But nothing, absolutely nothing had ever come close to the mien of cold fury he was sporting now. "Idiot. You goddamn idiot," the adept ground out between clenched teeth, his power-laced words effortlessly making it past the barrier of the ear plugs. "I've always known that your courage outweighs your sanity and reason, but tonight you've surely outdone yourself."

Before he could say anything in his defense, the silver eyes narrowed, and a shower of ice crystals cascaded downwards, transforming the solid alteroak planks within a radius of several feet into a somewhat premature winter wonderland. At the very next moment, deceptively slender fingers dug into his vest and pulled him to his feet as if he were a toddler and not a full-grown, bulky man in soaking-wet clothes. "We need to talk, Vryce," Tarrant said curtly, and registering the barely suppressed anger in the usually so quiet, composed voice, Damien deemed it better not to argue for a change.

Being dragged along by his severe taskmaster, he saw from the corners of his eyes that even more icicles were hanging from the railing to his left, still glowing with the eerie unlight he had come to associate with Coldfire long ago. Considering the distance to the spot where the Neocount had just applied first aid, it couldn't be a result of his latest Working. This left only one logical conclusion. Evidently still human enough to be considered fair game by the demons of the sea, a somewhat unsettling disclosure, Gerald had felt the power of the sirens' Song just like any other ordinary mortal. And had feared it so much that he had felt compelled to defend himself against its lure.

For a fleeting moment, the warrior knight wondered what Tarrant had seen. True immortality? Reunion with the family he had slaughtered in order to strike his compact with the Unnamed? Or a slender, dark-haired beauty running for her life in his vulking forest? Very likely, he would never know. But as matters stood, he truly had more pressing problems at hand. Being oblivious to the visions which had plagued his brother-in-arms didn't necessarily mean that the adept hadn't shared his telling lapse via the channel which seemed to get stronger every day. After all, the Hunter had already prowled around in his mind without bothering to ask for his consent on more than one occasion. It didn't bear contemplating if he had seen the true reason why he had jumped overboard like a madman. Or rather like a lovesick teenager thinking with his dick instead of his head...

In the fraction of the second that passed between Gerald flinging the door open and it slamming against the wall of the narrow below deck passage, he caught a glimpse of an utterly peaceful scenario. Hesseth and Jenseny were resting on the bunk, their arms slung around each other and their limbs relaxed in sleep. At the very next moment, they were sitting bolt upright, though, their faces the very picture of shock. "Damien, what happened? Are we under attack?" the Khrast asked, embracing the girl staring at Tarrant with fearful eyes even tighter.

"Out. Now. Your treasured priest can tell you about his act of utmost stupidity later. If there is a 'later' for him, that is."

Her formidable claws extended from their sheaths and her pointed predator's teeth bared in an unmistakable gesture of aggression, Hesseth glared daggers at the speaker, ready to pounce on him on Vryce's command. But the warrior knight shook his head. "Don't worry and just do what he wants," he said with enforced calm. "Everything's going to be alright."

Shooting Tarrant a sidewards glance, he doubted it, doubted it very much despite his reassurances. Although his features had settled back into the familiar expression of haughty condescension, the waves of rage radiating from him were almost palpable. It stuck out a mile that he was still in a particularly foul mood, and with regard to the fact that he had been waiting for just the right occasion to rid himself of both their travel companions in a more or less terminal fashion for quite a while now, it didn't seem altogether advisable to involve them in what was to come. It certainly wouldn't be pleasant.

"Draw in your claws and get you gone, Mes rakh. And don't you forget to take along this little parasite clinging to you like a leech. I'm finding myself short on patience," the Hunter commanded, his voice no more human than the hissing of a poisonous snake.

After throwing Vryce a last doubtful look, Hesseth obeyed, pulling her trembling young ward with her. As soon as they had disappeared from sight, the door closed on its own account. Coldfire flared up, sealing it with a wall no less impenetrable than the one the Hunter had employed in order to shut himself off from his human allies in the cave in the rakhlands. "This should keep out any unwanted intruders," he whispered. "Regarding the topic of our discussion, we don't need a nosy eavesdropper, do we?"

"What the hell is bugging you, Gerald? I don't deny that it was quite daft of me to refuse the vulking ear plugs and fall prey to those illusions consequently, but no harm other than getting soaked to the skin has come out of it. Thanks to you. I owe you one, I suppose."

The Neocount of Merentha moved so fast that Damien didn't see the blow to his sternum coming. The impact forced the air from his lungs, and at the very next moment, he hit the wall of the cabin with a resounding thud. "No harm done?" His brows drawn in a menacing frown and his eyes blazing with a dark fire, Tarrant resembled nothing so much than the angel of death about to descend on his cowering prey. "You are an even greater fool than I supposed you to be, Vryce. You not only overestimated your strength and jeopardized our mission in the process but also succumbed to an utterly uncalled-for fit of sentimentality. Or worse. How could you dare to make me the object of your ridiculous pipe dreams?"

Uh-oh. This accusation obviously answered the question whether Gerald was being in the know about the nature of the visions which had caused him to behave like a complete and utter nutcase. "Well, you've got me there," Damien muttered, his ears burning with embarrassment. "But this doesn't mean a thing. It was just an illusion, forced upon me by the sirens. I would have never..."

"Kindly stop taking me for a fool! The creatures you call 'sirens' didn't confront you with my simulacrum for the fun of it. As you should know by now, they draw upon their victims' wishful thinking, their deepest desires. They're weak, mindless demonlings that know nothing but lusting after the flesh of the living, and yet they almost managed to kill you. What if the Undying Prince and his servant Calesta will take the same line? I've told you once before that I don't intend to court death at my advanced age, and I won't tolerate being rendered vulnerable because you can't keep your damned hormones under control. Hence, you'd better think twice before making me reconsider the usefulness of our alliance. Have I made myself clear?"

Somewhat taken aback by the ferocity of Tarrant's outburst, the warrior knight scrutinized the man glowering at him as if he had just committed the greatest crime in living memory. Considering that the Hunter had pointed out long ago that brutal physical assault didn't appeal to him - and that he was an unrivalled master in the art of self-control - something was indeed very strange about his behaviour.

And there was more to it. It was just a gut feeling. A hunch. But if he wasn't completely mistaken, the tension in the Neocount's shoulders and the way a muscle twitched in his delicate jawline didn't speak so much of rage but of pure, unadulterated terror. Well hidden if one didn't know what to look for, but existent, nonetheless. "Very clear," he said quietly. "But I can't help but wondering what you were seeing while listening to those beings. It clearly wasn't to your liking, or you wouldn't have Worked in order to save your hide."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Vryce."

"Don't you? I think its an easy question, even for a man without the benefit of the perfectly organized archive you call your brain. So don't try to sidestep it, Gerald. What did you see that scared the living daylights out of you?"

"That's none of your business," the adept snapped.

"The hell it is! So far, I've heard a ton of bullshit about me endangering your precious life, or what counts for 'life' in your state. But you seem to forget that it works both ways, that you aren't the only one who's risking his vulking neck. We're in this together, remember? So get off your high horse at last and tell me what has spooked you. It can't be worse than some of the stuff I've heard lately."

Tarrant swallowed convulsively. "That remains to be seen. What I was beholding..." For once at the loss for words, he cut himself off with a shake of his head. At the very next moment, a chill finger was pressed against Damien's cheek, and his mind filled with images far more explicit than anything he had dreamed up in his fertile imagination. Gerald and he were writhing on a rough numarble slab, as naked as the day they had been born. He was close, so very close, but utilizing the channel, the Hunter kept him on the brink of orgasm for what felt like a small eternity, slowing down almost to a standstill and riding him harder again when he had calmed down a bit until he thought he would go mad if he didn't find release soon.

Whimpering, he bucked his hips, dug his fingers into tight buttocks in a desperate attempt to urge his lover on, but he could as well have tried to move the Divider Mountains. "Oh God, Gerald, please let me come. I can't take this anymore," his illusory self begged hoarsely, but instead of granting his wish, Tarrant just bowed his head with a wicked smile. A mouth as icy as a midwinter night came to rest at the curve of his neck, chilling his flesh beyond pain. Then canines so much sharper than a human's had any right to be pierced his skin, and as the strangely sensual sucking of his blood was propelling his arousal to unprecedented heights, he...

Suddenly was back in their cabin, a quite impressive bulge tenting his trousers. Almighty God, this couldn't be true, had to be an aftereffect of the demonic enchantment they had just been subjected to. "No, it isn't," the Lord of the Forest contradicted his unvoiced doubts. "You wanted to hear the truth. Now live with it."

"Vulking hell, it rarely happens, but right now, I don't know what to say. Since when have you been wanting to... to...?"

"To lay with you?" Tarrant shrugged. "It was a gradual process. Although I'm loathe to admit it, you're a handsome man. Right from our first meeting in the dae in Briand, I've been finding you aesthetically pleasing. Aside from your utter lack of taste concerning your choice of clothes, that is. But it was only after you rescued me from burning to cinders in the rising dawn that something changed in my perception of you."

Preoccupied with digesting the astounding revelations sprung upon him, the priest decided to ignore the jibe. "And where do we go from here?" he blurted out. "Don't get me wrong, Gerald, but we can't just pretend that nothing has happened."

"This would be foolish in the extreme, indeed. Knowing full well about our lamentable predicament, we need to take certain precautions that we won't fall into the very same trap again. But I strongly advise you not to get your hopes up somewhat prematurely, Vryce. As much as I might wish otherwise, there's no chance in hell to act out our desires. I regret it, regret it very much."

"Why?"

The adept averted his eyes and stared fixedly at a point a few inches beside his head. "Because I'm not capable of sexual congress. Or even of mimicking its forms, for that matter. Procreation is an act of life and therefore forbidden to me as fire or the light of the sun. And before you start pestering me about details: no, the problem doesn't lie in achieving an erection on my part. Not that this would be absolutely necessary for what I have in mind, anyway. But under the rules of my compact, laying with you would mean death, plain and simple. Believe me that there's no way around it. I tested the waters long ago, and I don't care to repeat the experience."

Crap! Although his private parts were still screaming for attention, Damien came close to letting the matter rest by a hair's breadth. They were already in it up to their necks even without complicating things any further. Under the given circumstances, a _complication_ in form of following up on his promise to rid Erna of the Hunter's taint forever was something he could do very well without for the time being. Maybe forever. But then a thought crossed the warrior knight's mind, and his face brightened. "Have you ever tried it with a bloke?" he asked with a broad grin.

"I beg your pardon?"

"A man, Gerald. Have you ever tried to have it off with a man since you've struck your compact with the Unnamed?

Startled, Tarrant blinked. "If you really need to know: no, I haven't. But I can't see what's so funny about it. Or why you deem the gender of my potential sexual partners of any importance whatsoever. All uncats are grey in the dark, after all."

"I think there you're very much mistaken, my friend. Has it never occurred to you in all those years that two males are banned from the procreation game for obvious reasons? Whatever happens tonight, nobody could accuse us of creating life." Still grinning, Damien circled the adept's waist. "After you had survived your exposure to sunlight in the rakhlands, you pointed out that it was all a question of degree (BSR, p. 569),"  he went on. "The same could be said here. In my humble opinion, you needn't fear retribution at the hands of your merciless 'benefactors'. And if I'm wrong, you could always plead ulterior motives. Tempting a priest into screwing the Darkest Prince of Hell should earn you some bonus points on the Unnamed's list for sure."

For a long time, the Hunter just stared at him, his face unreadable. But then the corners of his mouth curled into a faint smile. "You're a devious man, Damien Vryce," he chuckled. "A wicked man. Who would have thought this of you? But let's not waste valuable time with discussing your dispositions, eh? The night isn't getting any younger, and I'd like to put your theory to the test."

Before the warrior knight could count to three, determined fingers were already busy with unlacing his flies. Then Tarrant's icy hand was around him and stroked in a tantalizingly slow rhythm, and he very nearly came undone. "Gerald, for God's sake help me," he panted, helplessly fumbling with what felt like dozens of clasps and little mother-of-pearl buttons on the adept's garments. "If you've picked this rags for the sake of your celibacy, you've certainly achieved your aim."

Instead of deigning to grace him with a verbal reply, the adept merely raised his free hand, and in a a heartbeat the bothersome layers of silk and worsted were gone as if they had never existed.

His pupils dilated, Damien feasted his eyes on the man gazing serenely down on him as if he weren't just giving him the best hand job of his life. Without a stitch of clothing on his lean body, Tarrant wasn't an inch less beguiling than in his flowing Revivalist robes. The eerie moonlight falling through the porthole cast a silvery shine on his skin so utterly inhuman in its smooth flawlessness and accentuated the angles of his high cheekbones. With his shoulder-length hair framing his face like a halo, he rather resembled one of the legendary fairy kings of old than the fiend he truly was, an abomination feeding on the vital energy of man in order to escape the grave waiting for him for nigh to a thousand years by now.

His already impaired capacity for reasoning rapidly drowning in a veritable flood wave of arousal, Damien dragged him onto the bunk and rolled atop him without further ado, but slender hands held him back. "Slowly, Vryce," the Hunter admonished him. "You might have a point in what you've said, but just in case your working hypothesis is flawed, I'd rather play it safe for a start."

Long, pale fingers curled around both of them and started their enticing game once again, and the warrior knight was lost to the world. Moaning with pleasure, he thrust into the provisional sheath, relishing in the sensation of their erections rubbing against each other. It wasn't what he really wanted. Not by a long shot. As for him, he would have liked nothing more than burying himself inside his lover to the hilt and fuck both of them into oblivion. But of course Gerald was right. With so much being at stake, it would be beyond foolhardy to just go all the way instead of tentatively testing the waters first.

For a while, Tarrant stayed perfectly still beneath him save for the rhythmic motion of his wrist, not even breathing. His eyes closed and his lips slightly parted, he seemed to listen to something only he could hear. But just when Damien was beginning to suspect that his undead body was failing him, that it couldn't react to sexual stimulation like that of a mere mortal, things changed dramatically.

The adept' hand tightened convulsively, masturbating them faster and faster with each passing second, and then Gerald was moving with him, writhing against him with rising urgency until a shower of shooting stars exploded behind his lids and he collapsed on top of him, completely spent.

When he had come halfway to his senses again, Vryce opened his eyes with some effort. The Hunter was staring up to him, a look of wonder on his angelic features he had never witnessed on him before. "It seems that your deductions were correct," he whispered. "I thought that I could never ever experience anything like this again. That it would be forever out of my reach. Apparently, I was wrong. Thank you... Damien."

"You needn't thank me. It's not as if I didn't benefit of our _method of assessment_."

An elegantly arched eyebrow shot upwards in sardonic amusement. "Just so. And while we're at it, I wouldn't mind a continuation of our test series. Not tonight, though. With regard to the volume with which you voiced your enthusiasm, I'm somewhat surprised that your feline friend hasn't tried to storm our cabin yet, presuming that I was torturing you to death. My Shielding is going to withstand, no matter what. But we won't have a rescue team attacking the door with a set of carpentry tools at a rather inopportune moment, will we?"

Damien burst out laughing. How they could ever explain to Hesseth and Jenseny what had just come to pass between them escaped him so far, but he would worry about this problem later. For now, everything that mattered was that they were together and there would be many more nights to come during their journey to the lands of the Undying Prince, nights wherein they could test the limits of the Gerald's new-found freedom to their heart's content. Still smiling, he pulled his lover into his arms again and kissed him.


End file.
